


learning to dance

by jennycaakes



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Celebrations, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 02:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18714598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/pseuds/jennycaakes
Summary: The day after the battle had been for rest. The next to grieve. The third and fourth had been spent ridding Winterfell of the dead once and for all. Today they were meant to celebrate. Only Sansa did not feel like celebrating.//Podrick offers Sansa a dance.





	learning to dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [litvirg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litvirg/gifts).



> happy birthday steph i love u A LOT i hope you like this lil fic it's kind of cheesy and soft but WHATEVEr podrick is an angel boy and sansa deserves SOFT LOVE i have a lot of feelings idk why this was the ship to claim me anyway i adore you (steph) and hope you enjoy 
> 
> if ur not steph i also hope you enjoy but lbr as long as she's happy it's a win. this is my first GOT fic and i kno nothing (lol) abt the logistics so just like whatever who cares who CARES it's fic specifics don't matter

Arya found her faster than Sansa had been anticipating.

Not that Sansa was hiding, exactly, but she knew the feast had started in the Great Hall and her lack of presence would be noticed quickly. In truth she’d been expecting Ser Brienne to pop her head in before anyone else so Arya’s appearance caught her off guard.

“In case you hadn’t known,” Arya called as she stuck her head into Sansa’s chambers, startling her enough that the needle she’d been using slipped and caught her skin. “I killed the Night King.”

“Yes, Arya,” Sansa muttered. She pulled back her hand to suck the blood from her fingertip with a frown. “You’re quite keen on reminding me.”

“So why’re you in here?” she asked. Arya took quiet steps forward into Sansa’s space, eyes scanning the room as though looking for signs of their parents. It felt like a lifetime ago that this space had belonged to them. “We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

The day after the battle had been for rest. The next to grieve. The third and fourth had been spent ridding Winterfell of the dead once and for all.

Today they were meant to celebrate. Only Sansa did not feel like celebrating.

“None of it is real,” Sansa told her sister. She wouldn’t paint on a face of joy and dance around the Great Hall, not this time. She’d been useless and people had died and somehow Sansa was still around to make sense of tomorrow. “We lost too many good men, too many innocents.”

“None of it is real?” Arya returned. She marched across the room and grabbed Sansa’s wrist.

“Arya!”

“Come on,” Arya said, pulling Sansa to her feet. She jerked her wrist out of Arya’s hold but she was already standing, now with a frown. Arya placed her hands on her hips. “You can at least make an appearance.”

Sansa knew that she was right, and still she didn’t want to. In her hands she still held the dress she’d been stitching and in ways it felt like a shield, protecting her from the task Arya had set forth. But Sansa knew the dress was more of an excuse than anything else. Slowly, she set it aside and held herself tall.

“Fine,” Sansa said. Not because she wanted to but because she knew she should.

Arya tilted her head and turned, leading Sansa from the room. They fell into step beside one another on their walk, Sansa growing more tense with every step. Any guise of a celebration should have been held earlier. Immediately after the battle when relief was something they could feel. Now that they’d counted numbers and cleared the dead everything felt strangely hollow.

“Only a few more nights until we head for King’s Landing,” Arya eventually said. Sansa would not be going with them. She and Bran would stay behind in Winterfell while Arya fought alongside Jon in the Battle of the Queens. “Are you going to spend all of your time hiding in your chambers once we go?”

“Of course not,” Sansa huffed.

“Leave Winterfell to Bran?”

Sansa frowned. “I’m not in the mood to celebrate tonight,” she said. That was it. Arya was right that she should make an appearance but that didn’t mean Sansa needed to be in the spirit, and it didn’t mean that she wouldn’t fulfill her responsibilities when the time came.

But for now, she’d felt like a failure. Arya had killed the Night King, Jon had fought an undead dragon, and even Bran had been brave enough to use himself as bait. Even Theon had charged straight toward death while fighting for the living. Sansa had hidden, and then when things got worse she stayed hidden. She’d always known that she wasn’t a fighter, that her talents lay elsewhere, but something about everything that had happened left her feeling out of sorts.

A feast would not fix what had broken inside of her.

However, the closer they walked toward the Great Hall the louder the music rang. Sansa almost faltered in her steps but Arya marched on and Sansa matched her stride. Clapping, laughter, all of it spilled out of the hall and hit Sansa like the first cold winds of winter.

“You’re telling me that’s not real?” Arya asked.

Sansa couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. She’d been quick to label any act of joy as forced or fraudulent but Arya was right, she could feel it in the sound of the music, drifting in the words of the song being sung. Someone had declared today a day of celebration and their people had embraced it.

Sansa could at least try.

The Great Hall was packed. Food had been prepared and was stationed around the outside of the room and the middle of the hall had been cleared for dancing. There were a group of singers stationed near the front all singing the same song, something Sansa recognized but only faintly, while the crowd danced along in time. While Sansa headed for a table to grab some bread she watched the movement with a small smile. She was happy for her people, surely, but could not allow herself to embrace it the way that she wished she could.

“I’ve made my appearance,” Sansa told her sister after breaking off a piece of bread.

Arya rolled her eyes and held out her hand for some as well. “You haven’t even gotten through a song,” Arya returned.

Sansa popped a bit of bread into her mouth and took her place on the outskirts of the crowd. Arya kept by her side, scanning the room as though maybe she was looking for someone. Every now and then she would hold her hand out for another piece of bread and Sansa would break off some to give to her.

She made it through two songs before someone finally approached her.

Of all people, it was Podrick. His dark hair was sticking to his forehead in some places from sweat and his eyes were shining like he’d had a drink or two of ale.

“My lady,” Podrick said as he bowed in front of her. Arya, still by Sansa’s side, arched an amused eyebrow. He offered her his hand. “Fancy a dance?”

Sansa managed a laugh as she looked around the Great Hall in disbelief. “To this?” she wondered. The current song was too upbeat, too full of energy she wasn’t sure she had. “I don’t know how,” Sansa finally decided. It was easier than saying no.

“Time to learn,” Arya told her. She pushed Sansa forward into Podrick, who straightened up at once to catch her.

“We’ll go slow,” he promised with a grin.

This was not a dance that they could move slow to. At once, Sansa was swept up into the song. He pulled her out into the center of the floor before she could protest. It was nothing like the formal dances she’d learned for wedding ceremonies, faster than she’d ever let herself move for fun.

“Podrick,” Sansa tried.

“Turn!”

She got the gist of the dance just from watching but it was one thing to see the large spinning circles that the crowd made and another to make her feet move that way. Every few verses of the song there was a pause for clapping along with the beat and then a twist that would send the dancer into the arms of another to repeat the pattern.

Suddenly Sansa was laughing, twirling around the Great Hall as though they hadn’t just fought a devastating battle, letting the laughter of those around her hold her in a moment she’d been too afraid to enter on her own. The first partner change sent her into the arms of Ser Davos, and then into Gendry’s after that. For a moment Sansa even found herself spinning across the room with Jon, the smile on his face more genuine than she’d seen in such a long time.

The sound ended in a rush and the room burst into applause for the musicians, Sansa herself cheering for them. It had been easier than she realized to forget about the horrifying reality that they belonged to once she'd joined the dance.

Across the circle, Podrick winked at her.

The flash of warm that blew through Sansa like a spring wind had no time to carry her away. Instead Jon turned to her, his smile still wide on his face. “I was surprised to see you on the floor,” Jon told her. They took a few steps backwards as the song changed, the singer choosing something lively but not as fast as before. “Arya drag you out?”

“I thought I could make an appearance.”

“So that’s a yes,” Jon said, smiling. “I’m glad, Sansa. We leave soon. There isn’t much time left for things like this.”

Sansa felt her bubble of joy beginning to deflate.

All celebrations ended.

Before Sansa could agree Jon’s attention was pulled elsewhere, leaving Sansa just a step out of the dancing circle on her own again.

Everyone else had already picked up with the new song, moving in a new dance with steps opposite the one before, and all the dread that she’d been trying to ignore easily found a way to creep back in. Sansa took another step back, then another, and soon she was on the outskirts of the Great Hall again, her one spur of the moment dance already forgotten amongst the people.

Sansa leaned back against the wall and let out a soft breath as she took it all in. Arya had been right, some of this was real. The men who stood had lost their brothers, the women who danced had seen loved ones torn apart in the crypts, still they pushed on, dancing and drinking and clapping along to the music. That was what people did. They carried on even when the world had ended.

“Are you enjoying the feast, Lady Sansa?”

The question came from Podrick, who’d appeared by her side without Sansa taking notice. His skin was flushed from dancing and his smile, like those around them, was beautiful but felt out of place to her. Sansa looked back to the crowd and scanned until she found Arya no longer lurking in the corner but with a cup of ale in her hand laughing amongst a group of men. With her sister distracted, Sansa found it easier to be truthful.

“Not as much as others may be,” she admitted to him.

Podrick’s easy smile faded. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he responded. Before Sansa could tell him it was no worry of his, he offered her his hand again. “Maybe a walk is more your style?”

* * *

Truly, the grounds of Winterfell had only just been cleared. Sansa had been horrified in the crypts but to walk outside and see the overwhelming amount of dead that littered grounds was completely _beyond_ horror. She’d avoided going outside while she could, and to see the transformation that had taken place in the courtyard still felt strange.

Eventually, Podrick cleared his throat. “You’re a nice dancer,” he said.

Sansa exhaled a short laugh. “No, Podrick, I am not.”

“You’re not a _horrible_ dancer,” he countered with a smile. “I thought it was nice.”

Sansa wasn’t sure where they were headed but she didn’t mind. The sounds of the Great Hall faded behind them as they walked, Sansa on Podrick’s arm in the quiet of the night. When the wind would whisper through the trees it felt like they were sharing secrets. All of this, the reality of the world before them that the battle had left behind, it was easier for her to stomach than the feast.

“Thank you for pulling me in,” she told him. “I needed that.”

“Happy to serve, my lady,” Podrick responded. After a moment he wondered, “And yet still you’d rather be out here?”

Something about the sting of the winter winds against her nose reminded Sansa that she was alive.

“Yes,” she answered. She looked up at him as they walked, finding him looking at her. “Would you rather be back in the Great Hall?”

“I got a few good songs in,” Podrick told her with another smile. “I’m alright here.”

“Did you get to sing any?” Sansa wondered. Both Brienne and Tyrion had mentioned Podrick’s final song to her on separate occasions. One had called it beautiful and haunting, the other tragically wonderful. “I’m told you have a lovely voice.”

“Somehow you telling me this only serves to embarrass me more, my lady.” Sansa managed a laugh. “I was never taught,” Podrick explained to her.

“Some people are naturally gifted.” Podrick shook his head a little but his smile remained, taking up most of his face. That was the thing about Podrick. His smiles were both easily earned and all consuming. He never hesitated to display how he was feeling and more often than not, joy was where he stood. “Do you enjoy singing?” she asked.

“Not enough to make a life out of it.”

The farther they got from the Great Hall the more the comfortable quiet of Winterfell consumed her.

“Would you like to become a knight?” Sansa wondered.

Podrick exhaled a deep breath. “To be honest I have no idea what I’d like to do,” he told her. “After the battle any sort of plan just feels…” Podrick trailed off. “Funny?”

“Funny,” she echoed.

Podrick slowed so he could turn to face her. “We’ve beaten death,” he said quietly. “And now we’re expected to fight more battles? Or become knights?” He slowly picked up his steps again, falling back into step beside her and allowing her a moment to readjust on her hold on his arm. “I don’t know. Something about it all feels ridiculous to me.”

The ground crunched beneath their feet. The days after the battle had been noticeably warmer than those before but winter would not fade in a day. Amongst the rubble there were still patches of ice to avoid.

“You could always help rebuild Winterfell,” Sansa said without thinking.

Podrick stopped at once, turning back to her like she’d asked the world of him. “Lady Sansa,” he said in a breath. “Of course I will do everything I can to help restore Winterfell. I thought that had been clear.”

Sansa had known many men but something about Podrick had always felt inherently genuine. Even the brief moments they had shared in passing in Kings Landing all those years ago he had always been a decent man. For him to return as Ser Brienne’s squire she hadn’t fully understood but she was grateful. Knowing decent men was a rarity, it felt. But after all she’d gone through, Sansa still struggled with Podrick’s sincerity.

“That doesn’t feel funny to you?” she muttered.

“Not at all,” he answered, soft.

“What about a title for you?” she asked, looking up to meet his eyes. Podrick stood taller, eyebrows pulling together as he held her gaze. “Would that be funny?”

Podrick opened and closed his mouth a few times. “My lady,” he finally settled with.

“Lord Podrick,” she said slowly. Sansa watched as Pod’s tongue eased out to wet his bottom lip before dragging her eyes back up to his. “That’s your plan, is it not? To gain lordship?”

Podrick finally looked away from her, shaking his head. “With truth, that’s always felt laughable to me,” he murmured.

That wasn’t the response she’d been expecting. “Always?” Sansa asked. “Even now?”

“Especially now,” Podrick said tiredly.

They had neared the Godswood but Sansa wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted to enter. Instead she took in Podrick as he stood apart from her in the moonlight.

“Why is it you see your own dreams as laughable,” she wondered, “but will do everything you can to help see mine to fruition?” Podrick searched her eyes as though she had a catch, but all she wanted was honesty.

“I know you to be a good and honorable woman,” Podrick eventually told her. “I’ve been with you some time now,” he reminded her. He saw her to the Wall, through the Battle of the Bastards. This may be the longest they’d ever spent alone but they had walked side by side ever since he and Brienne appeared in the woods to her all that time ago. “If anyone is deserving of the future that they want, I believe it to be you.”

If anyone had a catch it had to be him. “But why?”

“I’ve said why,” Podrick told her. “You’re a good woman, Lady Sansa. You believe in your people and you fight for them and would do your best to create a world for them in which they can thrive. I think that’s enough.”

Sansa dropped his gaze. “I didn’t fight for them,” she murmured. In many ways it was easy to be truthful with Podrick. “I hid.”

“In the crypts?” She began to fold her arms around herself but Podrick reached out to grab her hand. “My lady, you _survived_ ,” he said gently. “And as someone who finds it difficult to believe he’s still alive himself, I understand the guilt that comes with it.” Slowly she looked up to him. “But whatever you did was so you could be here for your people tomorrow. Because that’s what they need.” Podrick smiled. “The Lady of Winterfell.”

Sansa looked down again but tugged Podrick a step closer to her. “You’re very kind,” she told him. He’d seen her in the Great Hall and known that she needed soft words, not a loud celebration. “Thank you, Pod.”

Podrick was still beaming. “My pleasure.”

She wondered if Podrick still had family that he spoke to. If there was anyone outside of Brienne who’d been relieved to see his face. “I’m glad that you’re still alive,” Sansa added, because she was and she'd wanted him to know it. Then a touch softer, “I think you’re one of the best people I’ve ever known.”

“Lady Sansa,” he exhaled softly.

She was not sure that she had ever been looked at quite like Podrick was looking at her now. Like she was one to be desired, surely, but in his gaze came a respect that few men had actually given her. And still, with that, a sort of disbelief that she even consider him at all. Wound together into one look it was as though Sansa had learned how to craft snowflakes from her fingertips and control the winter winds herself.

Tonight was a night to celebrate.

Sansa pressed herself on her toes and kissed him briefly. Just for a moment. She’d nearly died without a proper kiss from a decent man. But when she pulled back Podrick followed, his forehead resting against hers as he leaned in to keep her close. Sansa reached up to draw him in, her hands settling against his hips.

Podrick exhaled, “Could I…?”

Sansa leaned up to answer him and Podrick kissed her back, deeper than the first. His other hand slowly rose to cup her other cheek, everything about it gentle. In a rush Sansa wanted him closer. As though he had heard this thought Podrick smiled, and the feeling of it against her own lips sent Sansa’s chest alight. She pulled back and he gave her the space she wanted but stayed close enough that she could still feel his breath.

“Well that was much better than your dancing,” Podrick murmured with a smile.

Sansa huffed out a laugh, lifting her hands to rest against his chest without quite pushing him away. His eyes held her gaze and that look remained, like Sansa herself was an impossibility. His touch was so achingly gentle she couldn’t help but lean into it.

“Pod,” she whispered. Podrick’s thumb brushed across her jaw.

“Yes, my lady?” he whispered back.

“Do you truly think having dreams of your own are funny?”

In the moonlight, his smile slipped. “No, my lady. I’m just a bit overwhelmed that I’m still alive to have them.”

Sansa lifted her own hand to cover Podrick’s against her cheek. “Tomorrow will be better with you in it,” she told him. Podrick grinned then, allowing his smile to return full force. “You’ve made it this far,” she said. “Do you think you can survive the Battle of the Queens?”

He arched a curious eyebrow. “Are you asking me to?”

“Yes,” Sansa answered.

Podrick tipped his head to the side as though in thought and Sansa nearly rolled her eyes in response, unable to fight her own smile. “Can’t help rebuild Winterfell if I’m dead,” he reasoned. She lowered her hand from his and he eased back a touch, letting his own hand fall back to his side. “What happens once I return?” he wondered.

Sansa never looked away. “We get you a title,” she told him.

Podrick’s lips parted. “Sansa…”

Her chest restricted at how he said her name. But instead of pushing for whatever’s next she asked, “Will you walk me to my chambers?”

Podrick’s eyes still shone with hope. “Of course, my lady.”

* * *

The walk to Sansa’s chambers had been quick and quiet. Though part of her had fully intended on going to bed the moment she’d arrived, another part of her knew that she had been fooling herself.

Sansa turned to Podrick and before she even spoke the smile that found his face was enough to make her brave.

“Thank you,” she said slowly. “For the dance. And the walk.”

“And you, my lady,” Podrick returned warmly. “For the kiss.”

Sansa felt her face flood with heat. “Podrick…”

“It’s all right,” he told her. Sansa believed that if she went to bed with nothing more, Podrick would let her go and not hold it against her. But she did not want to go to bed with nothing more. “I know it can be complicated for you to—“

“It’s not complicated,” she stopped him.

Podrick hesitated. “No?”

“No.”

In truth it _was_ complicated, he must have known that, but Podrick closed the distance between them anyway.

Sansa had never been kissed like this, so open and free, taking as much as she was being given. This was a dance she’d never been taught either but it felt as though she was learning it much faster than the one the Great Hall. Podrick stepped closer just enough to back Sansa up against the wall. He propped one arm above her while Sansa slid her hands around his waist to keep him near.

“Pod,” she exhaled.

“Mm?”

“Would you want to come in?” she asked. Podrick pulled back in a breath. Between them a million moments passed. “You can say no,” she eventually murmured.

Podrick laughed. “You think I want to say no?”

Sansa kissed him another time, still feeling brave. “Then say yes.”

He nodded into the next kiss which ended up not being much of a kiss at all between Sansa’s growing smile and the two of them fumbling backwards to find the door handle. It lacked grace but retained joy as they stumbled into Sansa’s chambers would up in one another.

They’d barely made it a few steps in when a voice from the shadows startled them apart.

“I was wondering where you’d run off to.”

Sansa jumped, turning as though she was shielding Podrick with her body. She didn’t need to see her sister to know her voice.

“Arya, get out!”

But Podrick had already collected himself as he moved backwards toward the door, smiling sheepishly. “It’s no worry at all,” he rushed, pinker by the moment. Sansa folded her arms over her chest and directed a frown toward Arya emerging from a dark corner of the room looking quite pleased with herself. Podrick kept his eyes on Sansa as he said, “I’ll see you in the morning, my lady.”

Sansa allowed herself to soften. “Goodnight, Podrick,” she returned gently.

He turned to Arya, tipping his head. “Slayer of Death,” he bid.

“Goodnight Podrick,” Arya echoed Sansa’s words with a grin. He winked at Sansa as he turned on his heel, leaving the Stark sisters alone together. He pulled the door shut with a click and Arya turned to Sansa brightly. “I like Podrick,” she told her.

“Get _out_ ,” Sansa said again, shooing her sister to the door. Arya laughed as Sansa pushed her from her room. “Goodnight!”

Arya’s laughter faded down the hallway and Sansa exhaled before leaning backwards against her door with a deeper sigh.

She knew that there was work to be done. People had still been lost, fear still lingered. One night of dancing and stolen kisses would not fix the broken world ahead of them.

But now at the thought of _tomorrow_ , Sansa smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a podrick payne appreciation account thank u very much


End file.
